In my last article, I admitted to being a (not-so-secret-anymore) Paris Hilton fan. I just find her fascinating—quirky, eccentric, naive, and, let’s be honest, sexy. I never got the chance to meet Hilton, but I did have a fling with another heiress: Emily. She’s the granddaughter of the inventor of a famous American laundry detergent and, at 27, already worth a cool 40 million dollars.
It was a few years ago when the phone rang in our small New York office. Emily was on the line, using a vague project inquiry as an excuse to call. We had met six months earlier at a meeting, and she had just rediscovered my business card. Honestly, I couldn’t even remember her, but her boldness deserved some credit, so I invited her to dinner at an Italian place around the corner.
Emily is originally Korean. Her parents adopted her from a Korean orphanage and brought her to Virginia. With two sons already, they had wanted a little girl. Emily grew up in the polished world of Southern American society, attended the same boarding school as George W. Bush’s daughters, and never had to worry about money. After her grandmother passed away, Emily inherited a large part of the family fortune—much to the annoyance of her father and brothers.
Emily had always been the wild one. Alcohol, drugs, and a life of excess mattered more than good grades. At 18, it all culminated in a cocaine overdose after a wild party, which landed her in the hospital.
Her savvy laundry-detergent grandma wasn’t having it, though. The inheritance came with strings attached. Emily now has a trust fund: she gets enough to live on but can only access her full 40 million once she turns 40 or marries and has a child. And “enough to live on” is clearly subjective—Emily worked only to avoid boredom and spent most of her time partying until dawn.
We started seeing each other more often, and Emily always insisted on paying. As a modern man, I was happy to let her, especially when the venues were exclusive, and the drinks cost a small fortune.
But Emily wasn’t exactly my type. She was hyperactive, talked too much, and mostly about shallow topics like gossip that didn’t interest me. She was quintessentially American, surrounding herself with other Americans, while I preferred hanging out with expats.
Then came our first night together. Emily was a firecracker in bed, and I decided to keep things going for a bit—always making it clear that we weren’t a couple. To Emily, though, that just meant we weren’t a couple yet. After all, how could I resist a gorgeous millionaire from a good family?
After a three-week trip to Europe, I returned to New York to find a Bentley waiting for me at the airport. I was driven straight to the Waldorf Astoria, where Emily awaited me in lingerie, champagne in hand. Unfortunately, I had brought back a fever and a cold from Italy. That didn’t deter Emily. She lay beside me in bed, fed me chicken soup, and watched TV while I tried to recover.
As time passed, it became clear Emily wanted more. She admitted she was looking for a husband and made me a proposition: we could get married and continue our open relationship as it was. She’d take care of me financially, and she’d like to have a child as soon as possible. Not for the money, she said, but because she wanted to be a “super mom” and dreamed of having a family of her own.
Wow. An indecent proposal from an attractive millionaire. I thought long and hard about it. Marry Emily or not? In the end, I decided against it. I imagined being trapped in a golden cage. Her family had money and the best lawyers, and I was convinced Emily, who currently hung on my every word, would turn the tables as soon as I signed a prenup. I’d probably end up paying alimony.
And beyond all the logical arguments, what about love? Yes, maybe I was being stupid. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Or was it? What’s the price of personal freedom? What’s the point of all the money in the world if you end up living like Paris Hilton’s lapdog? I chose freedom.
Even now, in tough times, I sometimes wonder what life would’ve been like if I’d said yes. Would I be lounging by the pool of my villa in South Beach, sipping cocktails? Or would I feel imprisoned?
Emily and I are still in touch, and she’s still single—but she’s moved on. There are fresh candidates now.
A little anecdote to end on: After a steamy, sweaty New York summer night with Emily, I got up to use the bathroom. Naked, I walked across the room. Emily started screaming. At first, I thought she was joking or had seen a mouse. But no, she was actually shocked by my nudity. The same woman who had done things in the dark that I’d only seen in porn was horrified by the sight of my naked ass in the light?
I decided to make fun of her and performed an improvised rain dance as I wobbled toward the bathroom.
Emily shrieked, “Oh my God!!! Chris!!! Cover yourself!”
Ah, Americans. Their sexual education comes from porn, but as soon as the lights are on, they turn puritanical. Life’s just an illusion—a dream in the dark. Let’s just hope no one flips the switch.
